unusual child in the
intimate circle of home.

"Tell your aunt I shall be very glad to go to the service with you," she
said as Phoebe stood speechless with joy. "Will you go?"

"Ach, yes, I go always," with a surprised widening of the blue eyes.

"And your aunt, too?"

"Why be sure, yes! Abody don't stay home from church when it's so near.
That would look like we don't want company. There's church on the hill
only every six weeks and the other Sundays it's at other churches. Then
we drive to those other churches and people what live near ask us to
come to their house for dinner, and we go. Then when it's here on the
hill we must ask people that live far off to come to us for dinner. That
way everybody has a place to go. It makes it nice to go away and to have
company still. We always have a lot when church is here. Aunt Maria
cooks so good."

She spoke the last words innocently and looked up with an expression of
wonder as she heard Miss Lee laugh gaily--now what was funny? Surely
Miss Lee laughed when there was nothing at all to laugh about!

"What time does your service begin?" asked the teacher. "What time do
you leave the house?"

"It takes in at nine o'clock----"

Miss Lee smothered an ejaculation of surprise.

"But we leave the house a little after half-past eight. Then we can go
easy up the hill and have time to walk around on the graveyard a little
and get in church early and watch the people come in."

"I'll stop for you and go with you, Phoebe."

Sunday morning at the Metz farm was no time for prolonged slumber. With
the first crowing of roosters Aunt Maria rose. After the early breakfast
there were numerous tasks to be performed before the departure for the
meeting-house. There was the milking to be done and the cans of milk
placed in the cool spring-house; the chickens and cattle to be fed; each
room of the big house to be dusted; vegetables to be prepared for a
hasty boiling after the return from the service; preserves and canned
fruits to be brought from the cellar, placed into glass dishes and set
in readiness.

At eight-fifteen Phoebe was ready. She wore her favorite blue chambray
dress and delighted in the fact that Sunday always brought her the
privilege of wearing her hat. The little sailor hat with its narrow
ribbon and little bow was certainly not the hat she would have chosen if
she might have had that pleasure, but it was the only hat she owned, so
was not to be despised. She felt